Odesta: A detailed account of Panem's most tragic love story
by fandom-obsessor-xo
Summary: My take on Odesta's tragic yet undeniably beautiful love story, from the day the pair met on the strip of sand near Finnick's house to the most brutal moments of Annie's battle against mental instability... Odesta piece, from the POF of both Annie and Finnick...reviews and comments much appreciated!:)
1. Prologue-Annie

In my earliest memory, I am drowning. The bitter ocean is consuming me, dragging me in to its unruly rhythm and nipping at my nostrils. I can no longer scream, as my mouth has long been demolished by this disordered sea. In that moment, I am sure it will only be a matter of time until I am forced to surrender myself, am forced to let this monster swallow me whole and emerge victorious.

But then I feel them.

Two arms, radiating oh so glorious heat on to my own. Before I can anticipate who these arms belong to, I am being swung by them onto someone's naked back. I mould myself into the strangers spine and allow my wrists and hands to secure themselves in to my saviours neck. I know he must be male. And relatively young, for he is not much taller than I and has not yet matured enough to be coated with any significant body hair. This, however, is all I know about the boy who came to my rescue, untangling me from the clutch of that savage beast and wrapping me in his own. That is, until we finally reached the strip of sand, often referred to as the 'strip' among the residents of district four.

The boy lays me on to the warm sand and leaves me to consume the blissful oxygen my lungs are so hungry for. Once my lungs full and my breaths steady, I manage to hurl myself upright, and I notice that the boy is still on the strip, sitting a couple of paces away from me and staring out at that horrible sea. Even though I was only a child at this point, six I think, perhaps approaching seven, I had always been sceptical of the sea. When I was an infant, my father had died at the hands of the ocean. He had been a fisherman, like many of the men in our district were, and the boat he was aboard collapsed under the pressure of the boisterous waves. Ever since my mother had told me that story when I was a toddler, determined not to be the sort of parent who kept such significant details from her child, I had felt nothing but anger and hate towards that stretch of blue that had taken my father from me before I had even gotten the chance to know him. I vowed to never let myself be fooled by its beauty, its magnificence, that day being no exception. The only reason that I had waded into it in the first place was to recapture my most precious belonging.

* * *

It was a stuffed toy that was meant to be recognised as something known as a mermaid. The myth of the mermaids has been around for centuries according to my mother, and had a reputation for being the most stunning, kind creatures who had a particular talent in anything musical. My father had apparently brought me my mermaid, who I had named Coral, when he and my mother found out my mother was expecting me. Coral was made from the hands of one the wives of my father's fishing buddies, who was a very talented seamstress, even more so than my mother, who has had a reputation of being a genius at needlework for as long as anyone in district four can recall. My father had brought her, for a discounted but still very dear price, and tucked her into my cradle with me every night when he came to bid me goodnight. Even though I was coming up for seven, and I was more than aware that I was fast approaching becoming too old for toys, I could not bear to part with Coral. She came everywhere with me. To the bathroom, to school, and most often, to the strip with me, where I would prop her up against my sewing basket as I worked on stitching together an array of fishing nets to be sold in my mother and step father's store.

Coral's hair was made of thick ivory silk, her skin made of soft, colourless cotton. She fashioned a salmon crop top and the scales on her tail a selection of precious sea shells. Although the shells were beginning to shed by this point, and streaks of dark dust had been added to her blonde mane, I still loved her more than anything, because having her close felt as though I always had a part of my deceased father near to me, so you can imagine why I forced myself to run in to the ocean after her that day. It was so unexpected, that clean sweep that shook her off of my sewing basket and in to the wild waves, and considering leaving a piece of my father to be demolished by that monstrosity once again, at the time, seemed ridiculous.

"_Coral_" I cry, unable to contain my devastation. I had failed my father, and I would never again run my hands over the jagged rocks that blanketed her bottom half, would never be able to stroke her silken hair to calm me in times of anxiety once more.

"Is that your name?" The boy has turned to face me now, his face sympathetic and kind. I immediately noticed his eyes were an exquisite aquamarine and his voice as clear as a bell. Waves of flaxen lapped his sun kissed forehead and a path of freckles lingered from here to his muscular jaw line. Nobody could reject that he was extraordinarily attractive, but the thing is, it was as if he hadn't been informed of this, as he was behaving as though he was just an usual boy, nothing at all extraordinary. This immediately triggered a sense of sadness to run through me, as I knew if I had been blessed with such superior looks, I'd be more than filled with vanity about them.

"No." I respond, a little coyly now I had seen his face. "That's the name of my doll. The tide took her out to sea and…" I can't help but choke out my next words. "I tried to save her." A sombre expression replaces the boy's curious one, and he moves back towards where I am stood in the centre of the strip. He slings an arm around me, and pulls my trembling body in to his firm one.

"I'd go try find her, but I don't think there's much hope now."He says helplessly. "I could always give it a go though…"

"No!" I interrupt, speaking a lot more boldly than I had meant to. "I mean, it's just a silly toy, I should of grown out of it ages ago." I force a casual shrug, eager to convince him I wasn't the stupid kid he probably had me down for.

"I still play with toys, and _I'm_ almost nine!" The boy states brashly. I suddenly feel very foolish.

"I…I'm sorry I didn't mean to…" The boy lets out a sunny laugh.

"Don't worry about it! I was just saying, you don't have to embarrassed." He pauses. "I'm Finnick, by the way."

"Annie." I reply.

"Pretty name." Finnick charms.

"Thank you." I pause. "And thank you for saving me." He scoffs at this.

"It's no big deal, honestly, I do this kind of thing every day!" It takes a mischievous wink for my childlike self to notice the sarcasm in his tone. "Where about do you live, Annie?"

"Why?" I ask cautiously, remembering what my mother had always told me about giving out such information to strangers.

"So I can walk you to your door, of course!" Finnick replies, not at all put out by my suspicion.

"I live in town, my mother owns the store that sells handmade fishing equipment." I answer. I know that he'll know what shop I'm talking about because we are the only family to actually have a warehouse for the equipment we make.

"I know the place, my father buy's fishhooks from there often. He say's no-one makes them better than at your mother's store!" I blush at that comment, because in fact it is me who makes a lot of the fishhooks nowadays seeing as mother is so tied down with weaving all the nets and baskets. I enjoyed crafting the hooks and constantly glowed with pride every time they were complimented by anyone.

"Yeah, well, that's the place." I give an awkward shrug. "You don't have to take me there though, really, I'm alright now."

"What kind of person would that make me if I was to leave you to hobble home on your own after a near death experience, hmm?" Finnick throws a wink in my direction. "Can't have you ruining my gentlemanly reputation now, can we?" I can't help but release a titter, which causes a brilliant beam to spread across his face. "There, it's settled! I'm taking you home!"

* * *

And he did. He helped hoist me up from my sitting position and steadied my still slightly shaken body with his own, and lead me across the strip and past the bustling swamp where I later learnt he lived in the depth of. This makes me a merchant child in comparison to him, as my family lived above the pleasant little apartment that is upstairs from the store, whereas he and his father lived in a damp little shack that was to moist to radiate even the tiniest molecule of heat. I feel guilty when he tells me this, and informs me of how fortunate I am to have such a comfortable home, so I impulsively burst out the story of my father to regain some of his sympathy.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry Annie…that must have been terrible." He exclaims when I tell him, his face a picture of bewilderment. I shrug.

"I barely remember him, so it's not too bad. Except…" I feel the tears welling in my throat. "Coral was all I had left of him."

"Oh…"

I blink back the tears threatening to roll from my eyes and force a slight smile to play on my lips. "It's okay, really."

"No." Finnick sighs. "It's not. It's a terrible thing to happen to anyone. My mother died whilst she was giving birth to me and I've never quite gotten over it, so I know what you're going through." The secure hand he has stopped to press against my upper arm is comforting and warm. I feel as though my insides are melting.

"I'm sorry, I…" By this point, the store securely in my line of sight and with a couple more paces, I'll be stood in front of the front door. I turn to Finnick, and notice the tears swimming in his sockets. I can't help but wrap him in to a tight embrace, before turning away from him and beginning to make my way inside.

"Annie?" I turn to look at him, his face now streaked with tears and his hair blown astray by both the hug and the autumn breeze.

"Yeah?"

"You coming down to the strip again tomorrow?" He asks sheepishly.

"Uh-huh" I reply without thinking about it. I was planning on staying inside after school tomorrow, helping out in the shop and catching up on some reading, but from that day, wherever Finnick Odair was, that is exactly where I wanted to be.

* * *

Fast forward five and a half years and Finnick and I are inseparable. We quickly fell in to a routine of spending almost every evening together at the strip, and after a violent ship crash killed several of his closest school friends, which occurred when Finnick was ten and I eight, I abandoned my group of girlfriends and the two of us began to spend school hours in each other's company as well.

It wasn't long until I met Finnick's father, a wise, quiet sort of man who had dedicated his life to accommodating his son after the loss of his wife. Mr Odair worked of course, very hard for that matter, but his son always seemed to come first in addition to his job, and that is something I envied Finnick for. My mother was good to me, but if she was not working, she was spending time with her new husband, my arrogant and in my opinion, frankly rather overrated, step father, who spent the majority of his life downing liquor with his fishing buddies. After several visits to Finnick and his father's shack in the swap, I reluctantly gave in to his numerous requests to spend the evening at my house, where he met my mother and step father with an embarrassing amount of charm. My mother lapped it up though, and my step father found it ever so amusing, so there was no problems at all, and by the time summer came, everybody in district four were well informed of Finnick and I's admiration of each other. Of course, there'd been a few sly remarks about us becoming a couple, but for the most of the time we just shrugged these silly comments off. That is until the summer that Finnick was reaped for the 65th Hunger Games, that is.


	2. Chapter 1-Annie-Part l

"You know, if you want people to start taking you seriously, you're gonna have to let me teach you to swim at some point" Finnick calls from where he is standing, knee's soaked by the ocean, the July sunshine illuminating his toned chest.

"_I _don't have to don't have to do anything!" I reply, burying my toes deep into the scorching sand that surrounds me.

It was a late Thursday afternoon, exactly one week away from the day set aside for this year's reaping, my _first_ reaping, and quite probably the last time we would have before it outside of school. This is down to the fact that reaping time is always an exceptionally busy time in district four, as the citizens of the Capitol are wanting to stock up on pallet upon pallet of seafood for their parties thrown in order to celebrate the games. If you ask me, I think the whole things a monstrosity. As if the district wasn't bothered enough by the pressure of the reaping, let alone the stress of providing quality seafood to a bunch of ignorant morons. But hey, as I'd come to learn over years to come, life is far from fair.

"Oh give over, Annie" Finnick purrs "I know you're secretly dying to get in here with me!" He motions at the stretch of sapphire that absorbs him.

I roll my eyes. He's been saying stupid things like this a lot lately, constantly teasing me and making ridiculous jokes about nothing. It was getting kind of annoying, to tell you the truth, but I decided to play along never less. I knew reaping season was a tough time for his father and he, as they're income very much lied in the transportation service. Sure, Mr Odair would also often catch the fish himself, but due to an motor boat accident a couple of years back, that resulted in him losing his most of the arm he would use to steady the rod, the task of fishing has became a significantly harder one for him. Perhaps, I thought to myself, allowing Finnick his childish humour, I was allowing him to forget the troubles and strain reaping time brings in tow.

"Tell you what; I'll make you a deal." Finnicks eyes glisten with anticipation. I smirk to myself. "If you manage to weave together a net, I'll allow you to coax me in to the water, okay?"

"Ugh, nothing ever comes easy when you're concerned, does it?" Finnick groans, beginning to stride from the ocean to joint me on the strip. When he reaches where I am sitting, the heels of my hands dug in to the burnt yellow sand, my feet still securely buried beneath it, he deliberately shakes the moisture his body has collected on to me. I squeal in terror and he erupts in to a bout of laughter so sunny, so full of joy, that I cannot help but forget about being mad at him. He has a habit of doing that, does Finnick.

"Are you scared?" He says softly, once he has composed himself. I shake my head.

"It's my first time, and the store's had a great turnout this year." I pause. "The odds really couldn't be more in my favour." Finnick smiles sadly at this, and pulls me into him with his brawny arm. Without thinking, I nestle in to the curve between his collarbone and shoulder blade, both of which are still exposed and dotted with sea water. He smells the way he always does; of fresh air and lemon grass and salty dampness.

All of a sudden, Finnick breaks our embrace, holding my yearning shoulders away from him at arm's length. "What?" I ask, perplexed.

Finnick sighs, and unlocks his gaze from mine. "Have you…have you…" He pauses, and looks at me in the eye once more. "Have you ever been kissed, Annie?"

I shake my head furiously before I can even anticipate what he is hinting at. Why would any boy want to steal a kiss from me? I am far from pretty, with my strange circular eyes and jutted lips. My eyebrows are far to prominent and shaded against the contrast paleness of my flesh, my nose sticks up far to elevated and my cheeks are padded with layers of childish puppy fat. And as for my body, well, it was far from _desirable_. I had turned twelve four months ago and I was yet to see any blossoming in my bosom area, my waist just as narrow as it always had been, my thighs just as shapeless. I simply looked like a young child with ugly, disorientated features, if you were to ask me. I suppose my hair, a mane of delicate auburn waves that I would often decorate with flowers, could sometimes seem attractive in the eye of a beholder, on a day that had been obedient, of course. But never less, the idea that Finnick may of thought anybody would have in interest in kissing me was beyond me. And even if somehow people _were_, it's as though I spend my time with anyone other than him anyway.

"Do you…um…" He diverts his eyes from me a second time, staring intently at the sand below us. I am about to change the subject when he begins to speak again, this time stare entangled securely with my own. "Do you want me to kiss you, Annie?"

I am so stunned by his question that all I can do is sit and stare at him. Of course, my lack of enthusiasm embarrasses Finnick, causing him to stare in to space one more. But I do not lift my gaze from his face, still moist from the water, jagged and rough, yet with a surface so smooth, so flawless. His eyes gleam green underneath the darkening sky, his full lips pursed in a sulk. I had never seen anybody so effortlessly beautiful in my entire life, and in that moment, I doubted I ever would.

"Yes." Is all I say, as Finnick's head moves back towards mine, a dazzling smile painted across his face.

"Come here, then." He says quietly, ushering me closer to him. I allow myself to nestle back in to the crook above his shoulder and let my naked legs tangle with his on the chilling sand. I close my eyes, preparing myself.

And then it happens.

Finnick's lips lock with mine and I can only describe them as dancing, moving inwards first, very slowly, and then outwards again. He tastes somehow of both salt and mint, his lips are as soft as I imagine a cloud to be and as strong as anything. When our lips have dipped in and out and in and out again for the third time, I feel a hot little slimy thing try to push past my lips and teeth and in to my mouth. The feeling of his tongue bashing against my mouth isn't a pleasant one. I try to gently coax it off, but Finnick is clearly not getting the message, so I slip myself out of the caress.

"What?" Finnick asks, concerned. "Didn't you like it?"

I think about his question for a few seconds before answering it. "No, I liked it." I say truthfully. "The first part, anyway, but not the tongue part…" I pause, trying to deliver what I want to say without sounding unkind. "It was just…a little_ too_ weird for my liking…"

Finnick nodded bashfully, crimson beginning to flood his face. "Sorry…"

"No!" I jump in "Don't be, please…" I raise my hand to caress his cheek. "It was really nice." This comment seems to restore Finnick's ego, as he gives out a hefty sigh of what seems to be relief. "Good!" He says jollily. "Because ones first kiss is meant to be a big deal, you know, and I wouldn't want to mess it up…" He says with an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. I punch him playfully on the shoulder. Something suddenly occurs to me.

"Wasn't that your first kiss then?" I ask cautiously, not sure if I want to know the answer. Finnick looks embarrassed again.

"Um…" He sighs "Yeah, actually, it was…I've seen a lot of kisses though, Noah and the boys had a few, and I sometimes sat and watched." Noah was his closest friend, and one of the three boys who got killed in the boating accident a few years back.

"Oh, well that doesn't sound creepy at _all_!" I joke, trying to make light of the situation. It works, as Finnick begins to chuckle.

"I really do hope it _was_ okay…" He speculates.

"Finnick!" I raise my voice in frustration. "It was fine!"

He still seems unconvinced, a look of worry spread across his face, so to put his mind at rest, I pull him into me and press my lips against his once more. Once again, our lips dance that blissful dance, but this time, the strides inward and out are deeper, and the dance is danced with more passion, more intensity. We kiss for longer this time, for what seems like hours, but could of only been about a minute or two. This time, Finnick is the one who breaks it off.

"Annie?" He breaths, resting his forehead against mine. "I need to tell you something."

"What?" I ask, my lips still slightly brushing against his, a picture of temptation. Finnick sighs heavily, as if something is tiring him. I back away.

"It's just…" He pauses. "I want you to know, whatever happens, I want you to be aware of how much you mean to me Annie, and how much I care for you."

"Finnick…why are you saying this? Why are you behaving so…weird?"

Finnick releases a sombre chuckle. "I'm not…it's just…anything could happen in the next week or so, you know? I wish I could afford to come and see you more but pa really needs my help, so as this is our last proper time together on the strip, I just wanted you to know that…"

Something's not right. His words are coming out to fast, as if they are stumbling over each other. His sentences are being released in disorientated chunks, not flowing soundly as they usually do. Beads of sweat are beginning to gather on his forehead and the bridge of his nose and his eyes have a panicked look about them. I stare at my best friend with concern.

"What's going on Finnick?" I cry, frightened. "Why are you being like this?" He forces a sad smile to play on his lips, and his hands on my shoulders.

"I'm fine, Annie. Absolutely fine. It's just…a hard time…you know?"

I nod, reassured, relieved by this explanation. Of _course_ Finnick was bound to be behaving a little out of the ordinary, it was_ reaping_ season for goodness sake! If everybody else in the district had as much fish to sort, prepare and ship to the Capitol as the Odair's did, the whole town would be going out of their mind!

"Look, I have to go…" Finnick begins, reassured by my calm expression. " If I can get any extra time away from the docks, I'll knock for you, okay?" I nod, and Finnick plants one more kiss on the crown of my head, before saying. "You're amazing Annie Cresta, do you know that?"

I shake my head, bashful about such a weighted compliment. Finnick gently tilts my chin upwards so that I my gaze is once again locked with his. "You are, believe me."

And then, with one more besotted glance, Finnick Odair begins to stride away from me. I stay on the strip for a while longer, trying to diagnose the tingling sensation he has left on my lips and watching him fade away, in to oblivion.


	3. Chapter 2-Finnick-Part l

June 31st. The day of the reaping for the 65th Hunger Games. The day I will volunteer as tribute.

It feels strange, saying that sentence over and over again to myself. No matter how many times I say them, they never really seem real, just words taken from the mouth of another, braver, man. But was I really being brave? Of course, that's what I'd been convincing myself that I was being for months but…isn't it a little cowardly, to run away from all your troubles, start afresh elsewhere, even if that starting a fresh severely threatened your life? I've come to realise, in these past few weeks especially, that I would rather die than be a nobody, a nothing, and I can't deny that's rather selfish of me, but I have my noble reasons for volunteering also.

Since my father's accident two and a half years ago, things became a little dark for us. It had always just been me and my father, Odair and son, and I hadn't at all minded that, as I've always been the sort of person to prefer the close company of few rather than the strained company of many. My mother had died in childbirth with me, so I had never met her, therefore there was nothing to really miss. I suppose I missed her presence from time to time, when my father was working late and Annie was busy elsewhere, and I longed for someone to spill out my soul to. But I've always managed. That's my point. _We've_ always managed. Up until the accident, when my father got his arm stuck in a boat jet resulting in the jet ripping the joint of the arm from its socket in one swift and painful tug. It was his left arm, and like me, he had always been left handed and struggled to operate any other way. Therefore, his successful career as a fisherman sunk to the bottom of the ocean that day just as his arm had done. Nothing was the same after that.

My father got a job in the transporting department, but any fool could see his heart wasn't in it, so our income was nowhere near as high as it used to be. At first, I tried to carry on the family trade, but I've never been much of a skilled angler, not in comparison to my father anyway. Besides, I had school and Annie and the welfare of my father to worry about, fishing wasn't exactly on the top of my list of priorities at that point.

For about two years things were sort of grey. Not dark enough to be bad times, but nowhere near pale enough to be good ones. I spent a lot of my free time working at the docks, lifting and skinning the fish, but now I realise nowhere near enough time was spent earning my keep. By the spring of this year, I came to realise my father and I had a serious financial problem. I don't know how I didn't notice it sooner, I mean, the amount of times he had sent me to claim tessera in the past year was far higher than the previous couple of years, and the size of our two meals a day had been made a significantly smaller portion. Perhaps I was naïve, or perhaps I did not want to see the problems that shone so boldly, perhaps I needed to wait for them to become completely undeniably evident. Well, I had my evidence.

One day, after returning from the school, I came home to find a large pile of unopened letters blanketing the floor of our front room, which had been stripped bare of most of our threadbare furniture. From a distance, I could hear muffled sobs, coming from the direction of my father's bedroom. So I go ahead to his room, knock on the door, and as I half suspected there would be, there is no answer from my father, so I just go on in anyway.

And there he is.

My once invincible father, curled in to the delicate shape of a cocoon, weeping in a state of hysteria. More letters litter the bed, this time unsealed, and I noticed that the china lamp that used to belong to my grandparents is missing from his bedside table.

That's when I knew.

It took me a while to coax the whole story out of him, but I eventually I managed it. My father was a secret morphling addict. Since taking the powerful medication as a pain relief for his injuries, a remedy specifically recommended by the district healer, my father, whom was already crumbling under the stress and pressure the accident had caused him, became hooked on the morphling almost immediately. It turns out that's what most of our income had been put towards, feeding his piousness addiction. All the day's I'd spent, working my fingers to the bone at the dock, earning money to help _him _out…

I'd like to say I understood, that I was sympathetic and supportive but I don't wish to lie. I was furious and hurt and mortified. He had taken me for a fool, dragged me down his twisted path of destruction with him, and I was_ angry_. My father, the one person I had in this miserable world, had _betrayed_ me. And it was up to me to clean up his mess, because right now, the only thing he needs to focus on cleaning up is himself. I will fix this. I have to.

I haven't been acknowledging my father since I discovered his secret, but today I shall. It is eleven o'clock and breakfast has been and gone, yet he is huddled under his sheets, suffering with symptoms of withdrawal. Since his confession, I have forced him to allow me to be in charge of all finances, as we cannot afford for him to relapse and indulge himself with more intoxications. Surprisingly, my father has never been a drinker, which is fortunate as alcohol is very easy to get hold of if you know where to look, however I am sure my father has just as reliable recourses when it comes to morphling too, and I cannot risk it.

I sit down on the end of my father's rickety bed, gently as not to startle him. "Pa? "I whisper, only to be met with a reluctant groan from beneath the sheets. "Dad, wake _up_" I pause to wait for a response I will not receive. "_Pa!_" I proceed, raising my voice a little "Its reaping day, pa, we need to get you…"

My father jumps up from under the sheets. His swiftness startles me, but I try my hardest not to show it. "God damn it Finn, I know what lousy it is!" My father grumbles.

"Well then, you better get up and…" I begin, before he interrupts me yet again.

"I don't need you to tell me what I should and shouldn't be doing!" He snaps. His tone is sharp and threatening and out of character for a man usually so mellow. I take a step backwards, but keep my arms folded firmly across my chest, and my eyes fixed on his.

"Well, _that's _debatable…" I mutter.

"_What_ did you say?" He suddenly hoists himself into a sitting position, and heaves himself from the mattress, unsteadily beginning to stagger over to me. When he finally comes in reaching distance, he places both shaky hands on my shoulders and looks at me sternly. "I know things haven't been going all too well with us lately, but that's no excuse for you to disrespect me, you hear?" I nod solemnly. "Good." My father pulls me head first into an uncomfortable embrace, the bones imprisoned in his ribcage digging against the soft tissue of my stomach. I wince, and try to trap the moan bubbling in the back of my throat.

"You really must get ready now though pa, we haven't got long…" I proceed when he releases me. My father sighs.

"I know, I know Mr domineering!" He lets out a wobbly laugh. "You're as bad as your Mother was sometimes, you know that?" I allow myself to grin slightly. I had always loved it when he had compared me to her, as if him making comparisons made the nonexistent memories or her somehow faintly present.

"Ok, well _I'm_ going to get ready anyway, even if you can't be bothered to!" I reply, with mock seriousness weaved into my tone.

I stare intently at the reflection the bathroom mirror projects back to me. I am only fourteen, but without sounding arrogant , you would not know it. My jaw line is sharp and strong like my fathers, and is punctuated by a vague scar I received in a school yard fight three years earlier. I have another blemish, an angry purpling lash across my right eyebrow, from my training session a few weeks ago. Not many boys at fourteen have such permanent reminder of their suffering, unless you'd been a participant in the Hunger Games, of course. And anyone under the age of fifteen is yet to emerge from the games victorious.

* * *

My eyes gleam green under the glow the exposed bulb above provides. It is a sort of in-between green, neither pale nor dark, but an incredibly bold sort of hue, one that I once recall Annie describing as the sort one could only associate with springtime. My face structure is jagged and a little odd, with severe cheekbones and a abnormally large stretch of forehead. I have hair the shade of the sand that blankets the strip and the various other beaches in district four and a lean, robust sort of body I cannot help but hold great pride in. Of course, the weeks of intense training has played a great part in this achievement. At least once a day, I would manage to sneak off from my daily routine and go to docks to train, lunging knifes at the planks that hold up the pier and sparing fiercely with the wind. I sometimes attracted an audience, who stood perplexed with awe and curiosity. Nobody had said anything to me, but I was sure that those spectators had twigged what I had planned to do.

I leave the filthy water swaying in the tin tub, and emerge from the bathroom with just a faded towel slung around my waist. Plodding in to the box room where I sleep and dress, I pull out a pair of colourless underpants and hoist them over my legs and genitals. Then I clothe myself carefully in my reaping outfit, a pair of dull grey pants and a crisp green shirt which Annie's mother had embodied with tiny little fishing hooks for me. I walk back in to the bathroom, and glare at myself in the mirror once again. I look as I did on the occasion of my prior two reaping's. Sleep deprived, neat and most of all, terrified.

I don't wait around for my father to make my way to the town square. Instead, I leave alone a little after twelve o'clock, with hopes of sharing one more subconscious farewell with Annie before she was to discover the truth. Her mother had always been the sort of women who couldn't stand being late for anything, and seeing as we were all required to be flooding into the square in just over an hour anyway, I had a strong suspicion the Cresta's would already be present. And if they weren't? Well, I'd just have a little more time to convince myself that what I am doing is absolutely necessary. It was a win win situation all round.

By a stroke of luck, Annie is already hovering outside of her mother's shop, awaiting my arrival. She is dressed in ivory, with a flimsy emerald ribbon punctuating the middle of the flowing gown. Her mother has parted her hair in to two tidy braids that rest on each breast bone and the expression she wears is grim. It pains me to see her like this, so miserable and cold, but it's not as though I can blame her for it, it is reaping day, after all, and nobody is particularly overjoyed on reaping day. However, it's sad to see her like this, as I have never seen her look so forbidding before, as she stares on at the Capitol officials, hustling and bustling about, setting up the justice building for the big show. However, when she catches sight of me, her expression immediately softens.

"_Finn!" _She cries, running into my open arms. "Hey." I strain to hear her mumble in to my chest.

"Hey yourself!" I reply, trying to keep a hint of humour in my voice. I feel the front of my shirt moisten, and tilt her chin upwards so I can witness the tears rolling down her cheeks. "It'll be okay, I promise." I whisper, before planting a kiss upon her head.

"Yeah" Annie says bravely "I'm sure it will be its just…strange, you know?"

"Everyone's first reaping is strange" I admit "next year will be easier" Annie nods in reply, seemingly reassured by this comment.

"After, can we go to the strip? Mama made some of her ice cream last night, she said she'd give some to us to share after today's over with" I stare at her, oblivious to the fact that after the reaping had been and gone, we'd probably never be able to share ice cream at the strip ever again. However I force a smile and an eager nod, before letting her take my hands and press a tender kiss on to my lips.

* * *

I tell Annie I am going to hurry along my father, when in fact I am allowing myself one last training session before I offer myself up as tribute. As I depart from Annie's front door, I remember the reaping present I had made for her still enclosed in my pocket. _Perhaps she'll come to say goodbye_ I think to myself, though I doubt she will. I wouldn't, I'd be far too angry with her if the tables were turned.

The gift is fishing net. A rather small, poorly stitched one of that, but a fishing net never less. I had completed a few days ago, after hours of weaving and stitching it together in-between training sessions. After she had made that deal, the one in which if I put together a net that she would allow me to finally teach her to swim, I couldn't help myself but prove her wrong. She would of never of imagined that I would actually make the effort to do just that and present to her a net, however, as I suppose she will come to discover later, I seem to be full of surprises.

When I arrive at the dock, it is empty. The boatmen that usually crowd around hear around this time are probably at home with their wives and children, exchanging embraces and possibly gifts of food or fabric. This is good. I need a quiet, simple place to conduct my final training session, with no distractions or diversions in sight. I slide my hand into the pocket of my pants and pull out a piece of torn rope, and begin by tying a series of knots. Over the weeks, I have taught myself a variety of complex ties and have come to found knotting sort of therapeutic, and therefore a suitable way to ease in to the session. There's something about the routine and the simplicity of looping together a piece of string that appeals to me. I can't quite work out why yet, but perhaps in the weeks to come I will make a discovery.

Next, as I realise I must not have much time left, I dive straight in and practice a series of fighting stances. After a few minutes of this, I pull out the knife I keep enclosed beneath the wooden planks of the peer, and begin to throw them at self assigned targets to finish. When I begin to acknowledge the crowds of hesitant families flooding towards the justice building, I rise from where I am sitting and proceed to follow them.

* * *

I can barely see the justice building it is so blanketed with sheet upon sheet of people. People waiting behind the rails where beholders are required to stand, people putting the finishing touches to the appearances of their trembling offspring, people waiting in line to have their fingers pricked by the neat row of peacekeepers opposite to where I am standing. I join the end of the queue, and try to swallow the dread slowly rising within me.

I can't spot Annie or my father, no matter how hard I try to do so. After a few minutes, I give up on my search and instead try to keep an empty mind as the number of bodies in front of me increasingly lessens. It is not easy. Thoughts attempt to scramble over the barrier I have built within me, scratching and screaming for attention, seething in my brain to the point I feel as though I am destined to explode and then…

And then, I have reached the front of the queue, and the sea of apprehensive is pushing me towards the peacekeepers desk. The peacekeeper who draws my blood is faceless, as they wear a firm helmet to mask their face, so I cannot even recognise if they are male or female. For some reason this unsettles me. The last person to touch me before I go through with what I am planning, and I know so little about them. Oh god, I think I have gone insane. What am I doing, speculating such insignificant details! I should be focused. My mine determined on one thing and one thing only; managing to release the words I have been rehearsing for weeks.

I catch a glimpse of Annie just as district fours escort, Elaina Ecklewell, is about to take the stage. Her face seems rosier from the chill that weaves the air and her neatly styled hair has become slightly windswept, but apart from that, she seems exactly how I remember her from earlier on that day. Serious and despondent, laced with a sense of defiance. But not frightened. Not yet.

Elaina Ecklewell has been the escort for district four for as long as I have been alive. She comes across as a confident, brash and charismatic sort of character, sporting an outfit that increases in vibrancy as the years pass by. This year, her trademark afro is tinted a powder blue and is held back by a sparkling silver Alice band. A tight low cut jumpsuit proceeds to match this hair accessorie, and towering sequined platforms dress her feet. Her mahogany skin shimmers with health, bold silver make-up draw attention to her pear shaped eyes (surgically altered of course) and a layer of pasty blue lipstick blankets her lips. A tattoo of what seems to be the north star, that may or may not be temporary as I do not recall seeing it before, runs from her hairline to the bottom of her eye socket on the left side of her face, and a wide, horrific smile paints her face.

"Welcome, welcome!" She purrs, posing pretentiously for the Capitol cameras. "To the district four reaping for the 65th _Hunger Games_!" When she lets the words 'Hunger Games' slip from her lips, a roar, presumably belonging to the handful of training school kids among the crowd, escapes from the audience. I can't help but roll my eyes. "Before we proceed, a short film, brought to you directly from the Capitol!" She recites, her phony grin not faltering once.

Cue the promo that reminds us all of why the Hunger Games supposedly begun. Images of the dark days, and the horrific war between the districts and the Capitol. Words of shame and tragedy, and then of positivity, as the voice on the clip goes on to speak about the significance the Hunger Games holds in the success of today's society. I'd be mesmerised, that is if I hadn't witnessed the same clip fourteen times before.

"And now" Elaina declares "Let the fun begin!"

I watch her carefully as she wobbles over to the reaping bowl assigned to possible female tributes. This is important. Whoever's name she pulls out of that bowl, I may be required to kill. "Hailey Maim!"

I do not even manage to see who this Hailey Maim is, before a familiar fair haired girl from the training school volunteers in her place. As she makes for the staging area, I realise I only recognise this girl because her father would often fish down by the docks with my father when I was a kid. For some reason, the bond between our fathers broke around the time I began forming my friendship with Annie, but I still saw the girl around the school sometimes. She'd often be alone, but more out choice than anything, and the fact every other child in her grade seemed terrified of her. Six feet tall with a severe, pinched sort of face and a reputation of cruelty, that ran throughout the district, I could imagine why she held such fear. She's a couple of years older than myself, with a brawny and athletic structure. Certainly not the sort of opponent I had been hoping for.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" Elaina Ecklewell asks, her eyes not diverting once from the camera's.

"Joanie Malgrew." The girl mumbles soberly.

"Well!" Elaina gushes. "Let's give it up for our female tribute and gracious volunteer, Joanie Malgrew everybody!" Claps or relief fill my ears. Nobody would find a great loss in the absence of someone as malicious as Joanie.

"And now, for the boys!" Elaina announces, staggering over to the where the male bowl of tributes is stood. I shut my eyes close, so I do not have to see the expressions of shock and thankfulness as I make for the stage. So I do not have a chance to change my mind.

"Gregory Hammilsmith!" Elaina calls.

And the words have slipped off my lips before I can even contemplate it.

"I volunteer!"

I open my eyes. Bewildered faces surround me, eyes wide and mouths parted. A pained cry from a female being is released behind me.

_Annie_.

Suddenly, I want to reconsider my decision, take back my words and think their meaning over for a little longer. But I cannot. I feel the strong grasp of several peacekeepers and the awed glares burning in to my flesh as I stumble over my feet and go to meet Elaina Ecklewell on stage.


	4. Chapter 4-Annie-Part l

They won't let me go to him straight away. After I screamed for him at the reaping, I sprinted to the stage after him, causing a set of peacekeepers to drag me in a hysterical state back to my mother. She almost didn't allow me to go at all after seeing the state I was in, but after pleading with her for a while, tears still streaming down my face but my breathing more levelled and my words now distinguishable, she gives in and leads me by the hand to the forefront of the justice building, where Finnick had stood just moments before. Crowds and crowds of relieved adolescents and their families are still hovering around the stage opening, but when they catch sight of my mother and I, they swiftly move apart so I can get through. I throw what I hope to be looks of thanks in their direction, but in all honesty, I have no idea how to look anything but disorientated, stuck swimming in a haze of murky confusion.

My mother catches the attention of a peacekeeper, who leads her and I up the small wedge of a stage and behind the aquamarine curtains that sections it off. Behind the curtain, there is a little more staging area and then nothing but a set of double doors made of fine oak, which the peacekeeper holds ajar for us as we enter.

I have never been in the Justice Building before this moment. I know my mother has, as when my father was declared 'lost at sea' she received a little money and a plack in his honour. Even so, she seems just as astounded by the sight of it as I am. Marble fits every inch of the floor, and in the centre of the room an magnificent crystallized lamp moulded in to the shape of a fishhook hangs. Plush sofa's in an array of blues and greens are dotted throughout the entrance of the building, pale orchids stand on pretty glass tables and a beautifully woven sapphire rug blankets the floor leading to the staircase. To the side of us, I spot what I can only imagine to be an elevator, and this is where the peacekeeper proceeds to lead us too.

After a journey of awkward silence and unbearable anticipation, the elevator finally pings open and I rush out of its open arms before even the peacekeeper can go to do so. I wait for him to catch up with my anxiety induced speed, and then follow him down a hallway on what seems to be the third floor, my mother tagging along behind us. The peacekeeper stops at a dead end right at the finishing point of the hallway, where three other peacekeepers are gathered, and motions to his right. There I see a singular, opaque door which I assume Finnick is behind, and I lunge for it, only to be halted by a set of guns thrown across the door by one of the gathered peacekeepers.

"Family first!" He bellows. I bite down hard on my lip.

"I _am _family!" I hesitate, realising this will not be enough to convince him. "I'm his sister." The peacekeeper lets out a mocking laugh.

"Nice try, kid, but the Dad's already told us he's the only family. You're welcome to wait, he shouldn't be much longer." He says, a hint of sympathy leaking into his tone. His compassion makes me angry.

"Well _how _much longer?" I demand.

"Annie!" My mother scolds. "Be patient, Mr Odair is saying goodbye to his…" At the word 'goodbye' my eyes suddenly begin to flood out the tears building up inside my sockets and my mother forgets being stern and pulls me in to her arms. She holds me there, cradling my trembling body and whispering words of comfort, right up until the door to Finnick's holding room is swung open, and a unsettled Mr Odair stumbles out. He looks a lot older than when I saw him last, dark shadows surround his eyes and his forehead and cheeks are creased with lines of maturity. He looks exhausted. I see no sign of tears but sometimes, as my mother would say, tears just can't be summoned, no matter how desperately you want them to come.

"Reed…I…" My mother begins, unravelling one arm from our embrace and placing it on Finnick's fathers shoulder. "I'm so sorry…" Mr Odair offers a sad little smile.

"I am too, I…" He pauses, as if to recollect his thoughts. "I don't know why he's done this."

"Next!" The peacekeeper who had halted me bellows, and my mother gently pushes me forward.

"I'll wait outside, okay?" I nod at her, and turn to Mr Odair, who is still hovering aimlessly in the hallway.

"Is he ok?" Is all I can think to ask him. He nods, and moves forwards to put his firm palms against my shoulders.

"He can win, Annie. You know it just as well as I do." He whispers to me, before awkwardly patting my shoulder.

"_Next!_" The peacekeeper yells again. "Come on kid, we haven't got all day!"

So I come on. I look back one more time at Mr Odair's sombre face and force a reassuring smile for the sake of him and my mother, before entering the room.

* * *

Finnick is sat on a bench with his back to me, his eyes focused intently on nothing but the peach tinted wall before him. When he hears my footsteps, he slowly turns to me, and lets out a sigh of relief.

"Annie!" He cries, getting up from his seat to hug me. "I wasn't sure if you'd come!"

"Well, I have." I mumble, because I'm not quite sure of what else to say. I let him pull me in to him, but the feeling of his body pressed against mine doesn't feel comforting and safe as it usually does. Instead the hug feels odd and unfamiliar, as though I am embracing a stranger.

"Finn I…"

"Ssh…" Finnick interrupts, pulling me closer, as if he was in trouble at sea and I was his lifeboat.

"No, Finnick!" I insist, pushing away from him. "Why did you do this, I need to know why you would do this!" Finnick sighs and goes back to sit on his bench, lowering his head as though not to look at me and raking his hands through his tousled hair.

"It's really complicated Ans, I don't…" He starts.

"No, it really isn't!" I snap back, almost yelling at him now. "Nobody _made_ you volunteer! There must be a reason behind it! And I want to know what that reason is, I _deserve_ to know what that reason is!"

"Annie I…"

"I'm not a kid!" I continue. "So don't you dare patronise me again. You better tell me the truth!" Finnick sluggishly lifts his head from his hands and looks at me, his expression wounded.

"I can't tell you why, Annie." He pauses. "It's not fair…it's not right. All you need to know is that there is a reason, a good, valid reason for me doing this and that I will come back for you, that I will…"

"That's not good enough Finnick!" I scream, tears of rage welling in my eyes. "That's not god damn good enough!"

"Well then I'm sorry!" He yells back, crying as fiercely as me now. "But I can't tell you. I _won't_ tell you, and if you can't except that then…" He hesitates. "Then I guess whatever we had is finished, whether I come back or not." He whispers this last sentence, as though perhaps if he delivers it gently enough the devastating words in it will cause less of a blow.

"Fine!" I snap back, still seething with anger. "I guess it is."

As I turn away from him, I feel a piece of familiar mesh lunge at my ankle.

"For you." Finnick mutters. "It was meant to a reaping present, I forgot to give it to you earlier I…" He pauses to wipe away his tears. "You might as well have it."

I pick up the net. It is very small, and his stitching is all over the place, however it is useable. Attached to it by a piece of string, is a cardboard tag that reads; _To Annie. Hahahaha! Better get your swim suit ready! Love Finnick xxxx _

"Please Finnick." I whisper, overwhelmed. "Just tell me _why_." Finnick hesitates, but then shakes his head.

I leave the room without another word.


	5. Chapter 5-Finnick-Part 1

**_Authors note: _**_H__ey! I just would like to apologize for taking such a long time to update this chapter, I have been having a lot of setbacks in my personal life at the moment which has interfered with the progress of this story. I have been overwhelmed by the amount of support and positive feedback that this story has revived so far and hope that all of you continue to follow my work! I hope now to upload at least one chapter per week, two or three if possible in between revision for my exams and trying to maintain a social life. _

_I have uploaded chapter six of this particular story as well as chapter five to show you guys how sorry I really am, so please go check it out! Also, if you like this story, please go check out my story Misconceptions, a fiercely complicated love story between Hunger Games badies Clove an Cato. _

**_-Lauren xxxx_**

* * *

That's it. It's all over.

Even if I managed to return home, which I had always very much intended too, she'd never take me back, not now, not after this. Six years…six years of friendship over, over because of him! Oh how I'd wish he'd come in after her, I wouldn't of been so respectful to him, wouldn't of shown him such pity! If it weren't for him, the idea of volunteering would have never of been planted in my mind. If it weren't for him, I'd still have my Annie.

* * *

The farewells were shorter than I'd expected. Minutes after being escorted to my holding room, my father is being flung in to my room by two burly peacekeepers, his expression blank but his hands trembling in…in what? Fear? Shock? Anticipation?

"Finn…" Is the first thing he says to me, and that is enough for him to collapse to his knees, burying his scruffy mane of curls in his remaining hand, heavily weeping and slightly rocking. I don't know what to do. What can I do? I hadn't prepared for this. My father barley ever cried, in fact, I think the day I made my discovery was the only time I can recall him doing so. I had expected him to be strong, understanding, and_ supportive_. I could not of been anticipating a more opposite reaction.

"Pa…" I eventually murmur, crouching down so I am on his level. "Pa, it's okay, I'm coming back." My father sniffs.

"This is all my _fault_ Finn!" He exclaims. "If only I'd taken care of you better, not wasted our money on that god damn morphling then…then I'd of been able to prevent this from happening!"

"Pa, no, no, that's not the only reason I volunteered!" And it's not exactly a lie, there were other advantages for sacrificing myself, but there was no denying money was the primary one. "You know how I'd talk as a kid, always fantasising about becoming famous, becoming _something_, and now I will, pa, now I will!" I say, clasping his shaking shoulders. "_When _I win, we will be rich, and we can start over, and things will be good again, I promise!" My father shakes his head, still unconvinced.

"But son, don't you see? You shouldn't of had to of done this, it's not right" He pauses. "Your mother…she would be so ashamed of me…"

"Don't say that." I warn. "Don't go down the mom route."

"But Finn, its _true_"

"I don't care!" I say in a raised tone. "This is what has happened pa, and though I agree it's not the ideal situation, there's no going back now!"

My father stays silent for a while after I say this, a odd smile playing on his thin lips. "When did you become so grown up, eh, Finn?" He eventually chokes. "How did I miss it?" I shrug, embarrassed. My father hoists himself upwards, his tears now at a halt and a little of the old him returning to his face. My father is a hunch backed, mushroom coloured man with eyes in the shade of swamp moss silver hair as thick as the reeds he was named after. He is old for a father, but for some reason, I had only been proud of this. Though he is more mature than the other kids pa's he also obtains a knowledge that is far more valuable to me than fitting in among the crowd.

"I'll miss you, you know." He whispers when he is stood steadily.

"Of _course _you will!" I say, with mock arrogance. My father can't help but grin. "Don't worry though, soon enough I'll be back and you'll be sick to death of me…"

And then our goodbye is drawn to a swift closure. A peacekeeper, whom was one of the ones who escorted my father to this visit, is blocking the doorway and ushering my father out. A panicked look suddenly comes over my father's eyes, and before I know it, he is clinging to me, locking me his bony embrace for what could be the last time.

"I love you son!" He calls desperately as the peacekeeper begins to gently pull him away from me.

"You too, Dad." I reply, but I say it so quietly, I question whether or not he heard me.

* * *

After Annie's dramatic departure, I am swept off by a squad of peacekeepers almost immediately. I have never seen so many law enforcers in one place at the same time, and I'd be lying if I did not confess that the experience was a significantly daunting one. I feel trapped, imprisoned by a web of unfamiliar bodies and the lingering thought of my fate.

We reach the cars parked outside the back of the justice building just before Joanie and her team of bodyguards are present. When they have arrived, both crowds of peacekeepers break apart and stride back off towards to the Justice Building, leaving us alone with Elaina and districts four annual mentor, an elderly victor called Mags. I had seen her on previous occasions, wandering around the town or at prior reapings, where all the victors for each district were required to stand tall and prominent at the side of the staging area, but I had never been so close to her before. I notice now that her windswept mane is not pearl with age like I had originally thought, but more of a bold silver colour, like the hair that lay upon the head of my father. I also recognise her eyes, decorated with a series of age induced creases, are a brash emerald colour, not to dissimilar from my own, except darker. Valley eyes.

"Hello, children." The elderly victor announces gracefully, her expression oozing with kindness and compassion. I cannot help but smile at the convenience her sweet nature brings to my situation, and my eyes drift over to Joanie to see if she backs me up with this viewpoint, and when I do, I am shocked to see that she has been crying. With her hollow cheeks streaked with tears and her fair hair askew perhaps due to the act of a tight embrace, for the first time ever Joanie Malgrew seems sort of…_vulnerable_. However, when she sees me registering this, she flings a threatening look in my direction and the thought that she could be anything but brutal vanishes.

"Hi!" I reply quickly, partly to divert my attention from my undeniably frightening opponent and partly to jump in to greet our mentor before she has the chance. Everyone who knows even the vaguest details about the games knows that a tributes mentor plays a significant part to ones success in the arena. If I wanted Mags to become my lifeline, to pick me over Joanie (which shouldn't prove too much of a challenge seeing as she has as much charisma as a brick), then I'd have to show enthusiasm. "Nice to meet you!"

The old woman smiles modestly and takes my outstretched hand in her two crumpled ones. Instead of shaking it as I had intended her to, she simply presses our hands together for a few moments, trapping the warmth radiating from our palms into a tight embrace. All the while she is doing this, she continues to smile, a satisfied, wholehearted sort of smile that makes the corners of her eyes and mouths crinkle with the effort of it. After this motion, she shakily pulls her right hand to her lips, and presses a kiss upon the tips of her fingers, replanting the caress on my cheek as her worn hand goes back to cup my cheek. I don't know how, but for some reason such intimacy does not cause me any discomfort. Only a sense of safety and protection, which can't be a bad thing if you think about the circumstance of our relationship.

A plush black car pulls up along the sidewalk just as Mags reciting the same ritual with a very unsettled seeming Joanie. At the arrival of the cab, a so far silent Elaina practically pushes her poor associate aside to wrap her arms around our shoulders. I can almost feel the phoniness of her beam burn in to my cheekbones as she stands in between Joanie and I, tall and significant. "Remember to smile!" I hear her hiss between bared teeth, as she ushers us into vehicle, waving and posing for the increasing camera's that surround us now that the car has arrived. Flashes of bright light sting my eyes and skin as I clamber into the cab, unidentifiable chatter roars in my ears and beats against the drums inside of them as I settle myself into the passenger seat furthest from the unfamiliar crowds. Elaina enters next, her heels trotting loudly further towards the front of the vehicle, indicating that she intended to take the seat next to our chauffeur and diagonal from me. Mags is next, clumsily shuffling up to settle herself down beside me, bringing a reluctant Joanie in behind her. We are ready to go.

"The train ride to the Capitol won't take long" Mags informs us, attempting to kill the awkward quietness that spreads throughout the cab. "So we'll arrive long before dusk. It should take three, four hours at the most, isn't that right, Elaina?" Elaina does not respond, instead checking her reflection in the rear-view mirror, an ugly pout playing on her lips. "_Elaina?_" She persists. This time, the pompous brat turns around to face her, however she does not seem at all eager engage in conversation.

"_What?_" She barks.

"I was just saying" Mags continues calmly "how the train journey isn't at all long, isn't that right?"

"Quite right." Elaina replies after a short pause. "Unfortunately, we'll still have to endure that awful method of transport for hours, I mean, I cannot understand how they aren't able to organise a cab to deliver us there. It really is despicable." She complains. I shoot a glance in the direction of Mags, who is now tightly pursing her lips together in frustration.

"So" She carries on, letting Elaina's comment go "Did either of you two children train?"

"I did!" I say, a little too swiftly once again. "I mean, I have been for the last few weeks…" I shrug bashfully, kicking myself for seeming so cocky.

"Go on…" Mags urges.

"I…" I pause. "Well, I can tie a variety of good knots, and am good with weaponry, especially the trident, because I'm used to it, you know?" She nods encouragingly. "And, well, my aims okay, I'm strong and a skilled swimmer, and am decent when it comes to my hands, I think I stand a shot…"

"Wow, how _impressive!_" Joanie interrupts, sarcasm dictating her tone.

"Well, I'd like to hear you match it!" I fire back. Joanie grunts.

"Yes, go on dear, tell us a little about what you can do." Mags insists. Joanie leans forward from behind Mags to glare at me viciously.

"I attended the school for years, but I'm not much use at anything but throwing. " She announces finally, her gaze not faltering from mine. I want to look away, but I do not want her to sense my fear, so I keep my stare intertwined with hers. "I _am_ awful good at throwing though. It's a very therapeutic technique for managing problems with anger, so I spent a good amount of my adolescence hauling weaponry at the target boards there."

"Wonderful!" Mags replies, obviously not picking up on the intensity going on between us. "You both stand a good chance then, I'm sure of it!"

As her sentence finishes, the car draws to a halt, and Elaina turns to face us once more. "Remember to _smile_. If you want as good a chance as little old Mrs. optimism is making out, you need to seem honoured and excited, just like a career tribute is expected to be." And with that piece of advice, she flings open her door and strides out in to the swarm of camera's and jostling crowds, letting in a square of glistening sunshine as she does so. I suddenly feel a severely creased and clammy hand intertwine with my own. "You ready?" I hear Mags whisper in the dim lighting that the screened windows provide. I nod, even though I am not sure as to whether or not she is still paying attention.

Joanie exits the car first, quickly bringing her arm to her forehead in order to shade herself from the flashing lights. Mags follows, waving sheepishly to the crowds, her small hand ushering me out to join her in Joanie and I's new reality. And I do. I slide off the seat of the car easily, and stand as tall and as boldly as my body will allow, my arms swinging casually at my sides and my chest jutted outright. I paint a confident smile across my face, and walk steadily, not to sluggish, nor to swiftly, through the crowds that bombard district fours train station. I don't see Annie, nor my father, and the strange thing is, this does not upset me.

A wide, robust looking vehicle occupies the tracks of the railroad. It is a dim grey sort of colour, and has several windows dotted throughout the seven carriages I count. Elaina stands in front of the set of French doors leading to the first carriage, that creepy smile making a reappearance on her face. In perfect union, Joanie and I step through the automatic doors, into an unfamiliar paradise.

* * *

The flooring of the first carriage is a deep, lively orange colour and is dotted with an array of luxurious furniture. Lavish loveseats, mahogany coffee tables, an unusual but expensive looking lamp stood in the corner of the room, the majority of these furnishings fashioning a creamy ivory colour and seeming absolutely spotless. A turquoise rug, beautifully embodied and homed below one of the coffee tables, lays in front of a large homely fire place which is positioned directly below a large, flat screened television set. Rows of books line the walls held up by plates of ivory wood, and a cluster of coloured beanbags dot the carpet like lively infants.

"No place like home!" Elaina groans moodily. I see Mags roll her eyes.

"This is…" Joanie begins.

"Magnificent, isn't it? And you haven't seen the dining room yet!" Mags exclaims, ushering us to follow her into the next carriage.

A large rectangle of oak tables lies before us. Each table is piled high with a variety of extravagant food, jellies and cold meat and rich broths, you name it, it's there, glimmering mystically in the sunshine the windows let through. Chairs with fuchsia cushioned seats surround the table that punctuates the middle, and a grand chandelier hangs from the ceiling. I hear Joanie gasp, and I struggle to keep in my own awe at the room. I had never seen so much food in all my life, probably not even of eaten as much.

"The next carriage contains a lot of what the first one does, entertainment and such, but it is usually used as more of a chill out space for the tributes rather than us mentors. In the one after that, there is a hallway which leads to your chambers, and the carriages behind that one are specifically reserved for staff." Mags explains to us, gathering a handful of potato chips in her hand and flinging her frail body in to a seat. "Feel free to go on and explore, just be back here for supper in half an hour or so."

Mags was right. The third carriage is very much a replica to the first carriage, apart from the fact that the walls are a pale blue instead of ivory and the flooring is more of a washed out salmon colour. The rest of the furniture remains ivory, however there is twice as many beanbags in the room and no rug beneath the coffee table. The TV is slightly larger, and less books dictate the shelves on the walls. After a swift glance around, I make for the next room, expecting Joanie to follow in tow. However, out of the corner of my eye, I catch her flung down on the loveseat, her hair spread across the cushion like a blanket. I turn to face her.

"Aren't you coming?" I ask.

"Nope."

"Why?" It's not that I'm bothered by her rejection, more curious.

"I need some time to think." She states.

"About…?" I prompt.

"Stuff." Joanie snaps. "What's it to you anyway?"

"Nothing I just…"

"I'm not participating in the games." She whispers cautiously. "I have a plan."

"What…what do you…" I start.

"Oh shut up, will you?" She hisses. "Keep your voice down. I have a plan, but it's not foolproof, not yet. Its gonna work though, and you're gonna help me with it."

"Wait, what? Why are you telling me this?" I ask, perplexed. Joanie smirks.

"You might as well be made aware of it."

"Well what makes you think I want to help you?" I dare to ask. This catches her attention. She hoists herself upright on the settee and tilts her head to the side, as if observing me. After what seems like forever, Joanie says "Trust me, Finnick. It will work to your advantage, I promise you that." And with that, Joanie Malgrew exits the room through the door in which she came into it, with a sneer pinned securely to her mouth and a spring in her step.


	6. Chapter 6-Annie-Part 1

As soon as I calmly leave the holding room, I instantly allow myself to unravel from my composed state and break into a sprint. I race past the group of conversing peacekeepers, past my mother who is frantically calling me back to her, and down that winding staircase that is the heart of the Justice Building. I hear my mother's cries, feel the disapproving looks coming from the crowds of peacekeepers and district officials burning in to my flesh, but I do not stop. I cannot stop.

That is, until I reach that familiar strip of yellow, and feels the wind that the ocean exhaling embrace my cheek. I stand there, frozen, as I allow the aroma of salt and dampness tickle my nose. The same saline and moisture that he had always smelt of, though somehow, the scent on him always seem a little sweeter, and significantly more comforting to me.

I taste the scent then, as I lick away my tears from the corner of my mouth and let the tang of salty water overwhelm me. He is everywhere. How could I have thought coming here would help? How could coming to a place so full of him, so packed with memories and moments, could ever do anything but distress me more? I am turning to walk away, when I hear a horrible weeping sound, the perfect soundtrack to my silent tears.

It's coming from the first cliff that stands next to the strip. A whole row of stout, jagged, and significantly dangerous overhangs carry on from the strips end, and beyond them, the electrified fence that sections off us from our neighbouring districts. I doubt that the fence is actually electrified constantly, as we often are without electricity, especially in the winter months, however nobody in district four would ever have the courage to climb such hazardous precipices in order to reach it, and therefore the likelihood of any of us ever travelling beyond the barrier that imprisons us is very low. This is why I am surprised by the sobbing coming from far above on that almighty cliffs edge, the cries echoing boldly in the wind and notably belonging to a male, as whoever must have managed to climb up there must have a pretty important reason for doing so. Obtaining the inquisitive personality trait that I do, a mannerism my mother has always said was passed down from my father, I am also incredibly curious about this reason.

"Hello?" I find myself yelling at the top of my voice, as I cautiously edge closer to the bottom of the cliff. I can't see a thing, the curve of the stone blocking my view of the cliffs face and therefore potentially the owner of these cries.

There is silence for a little while. In fact, I am beginning to convince myself that perhaps what I had heard was all in my mind when I hear another cry, this one more pained, more full of ache and desperation, that sends a slight chill down my spine. "_Hello?_" I try again, putting emphasis on the word this time. "Is anyone up there?"

This time, I immediately am responded with a cautious whimper from above the curve in the stone. "Hey, look, it's okay, I'll get someone to come get you down!" I promise the stranger.

"No!" The voice suddenly yells "I don't what to!"

"Why?" I ask, perplexed.

"Because I am going to jump from this cliff and into the sea!" The voice announces dramatically.

"_What_" I reply, taken by surprise. "Why on earth would you do that?"

"Because I don't want to be here anymore I…" The voice starts.

"Look" I begin "I've had a rough day too, but getting yourself killed really isn't going to solve anything!"I pause. "How did you even get yourself up there anyway? The cliff isn't really at all that big, in fact, it is probably one of the smaller and fatter of the array, however it still looks as sharp and rough as all the others, with an equal likelihood of causing injury to whoever may dare to mount up it.

"I have some rope" The voice explains "I used that"

"Still looks like it would have been pretty hard to me…" I reply.

"It was" The voice admits "But I've been climbing all afternoon, as soon as the reaping finished."

"But _why?_" I persist.

The voice pauses for a while, as if stuck in speculation with himself, before confessing "Joanie Malgrew, the female who volunteered? Yeah, well, she was my sister." I am shocked. I certainly didn't expect there to be such a valid reason behind his foolishness.

"I'm…" I begin, speechless.

"You're sorry? I know, I know, of course you are" The voice grumbles. "As soon as the reaping finished, I ran straight for this cliff and after a good half an hour I had climbed it." He pauses. "I've always been gifted at climbing."

"Well, don't you think your being a bit selfish?" I dare. "I mean, your mother and father must be worried sick, they've already lost one child today!"

"They don't care!" The voice snaps, defensive. "They're probably the reason she volunteered in the first place…them or that girl!" By 'that girl' I presume that he means Brooklyn Harroway, whom Joanie had become infamous for supposedly harassing from last autumn to the beginning of the year. For some reason, Joanie, usually so cold and forbidding, had taken a bizarre interest in Brooke, a lively, sweet natured girl whose parents owned the darling little sweetshop in town. I don't know much about it really, since both girls are several years older than I and my parents have never been ones to engage in gossip, however I am aware that things turned pretty sinister and nasty for poor Brooke. The Harroway's were said to have complained to the teachers at the schools on numerous occasions, had even confronted the Malgrew's on their daughters unsettling behaviour, however Joanie went on to stalk Brooklyn, until one day, a fight broke out between the girls in the school yard one recess and all that had went on became seemingly forgotten.

"I thought all was sorted between her and Brooke?"

"Well, you thought wrong!" The voice yells. "What do you know, anyway? Who even are you?"

"I'm Annie Cresta!" I reply sternly. "And my best friend was the boy who volunteered so I know exactly how your feeling, so there's no need to be so accusing!" The boy stays quiet for a while, before hoisting himself over so he is sitting on the edge of the cliffs end. From only a side view I can see that his body structure is petite like mine, and his hair matches the hue of the sand below him. His skin is fair but tinted with a sun kissed glow, and he is wearing a torn shirt that I predict must of once been neatly pressed and spotless, but is now severely crumpled and stained with dust from his climb up the cliff. "I'm sorry!" The boy half sighs, half wails. "It's just…I can't do this anymore!"

"Stop being so dramatic!" I can't help but scoffing. "Why don't you come on down, and we'll talk about this, properly?"

"I can't!" The voice hesitates. "My parents, they'll blame it on me, I know they will!"

"Then they're idiots!" I state harshly. "And they don't deserve you to be worrying about them. Now come down, please? You're making me nervous sitting so close to the edge!" And, with an almighty huff, the boy swings his legs back over on to the cliff face and begins to walk away, dragging his feet and the weight of his troubles behind him.

Within seconds, I begin to see a small, blonde haired figure clutching on to a rope and gliding downwards towards me. After a minute or so, the voice who has now a very flushed and bemused face, is standing a few feet away from where I am standing, breathless.

"See, it wasn't so hard now, was it?" I patronise, striding over to him.

"I'm Wade." The boy squeaks, embarrassed.

"Nice to meet you Wade, I'm Annie, but of course, you already know _that_."

"Yeah." Wade hesitates. "Look, I'm sorry for being so rude to you up there…it's just…its just…" I place a clammy hand on shoulder, and offer him a reassuring smile.

"Look, it's okay, it must have been a really hard day for you, I get it." I soothe.

"Yeah but…it must have been for you too and, well, I haven't made it any easier have I?" Wade frets.

"Honestly, its fine" I reassure.

"I wasn't really going to jump off you know." He confesses. "I don't _think_ I was, anyway. It's just, everybody thought Joanie a bully, but she had always been so good to me. When papa's out at all hours with his lady friend and mama goes to bed depressed, and they scream at each other until the neighbours come knocking, well, Joanie is always there." He pauses. "_Was _always there." The innocence and the hurt that this stranger projects is hard for me to bear, as it reminds me so much of myself. As I watch the water begin to brim in Wade's eyes, I cannot stand to watch him suffering any longer and surprise myself by pulling him into an embrace.

"Life's hard sometimes, Wade." I whisper in his ear with what seems like great maturity. "But we have to go on, not for others, but for _ourselves._" I pull away from him, and place my hands firmly on his shoulders, as Finnick would. "Look, Wade. I'm here for you, okay? I don't want you to go jumping off any cliffs anytime soon, you hear me?" He smiles sadly, then nods. "How old are you?" I ask.

"Just turned thirteen." Wade answers obediently.

"I'm twelve, so we're almost the same age." I conclude. "Do you go around with anyone at the school?"

"Not really, I usually sometimes tag along with some of the boys from my class, but they tease me because I'm stupid." He admits shyly, bowing his head in humiliation.

"I bet you're not!" I say politely, though I am beginning to take this viewpoint myself.

"Well, forget those morons and come around with me instead."

"Really?" Wade enquires, taken aback by my brashness.

"Really." I hesitate. "Well, of course, if you'd like to…"

"Yes, yes of course I would!" He jumps in quickly.

"Great, well, I better get back. My mother will be almost as worried as yours!" I say, beginning to stride back past the strip and towards the town. Wade grins at me goofily.

"I'll meet you in the school yard, tomorrow, at recess?" He asks hopefully.

"Yeah, alright."

"By the apple tree?" Wade adds. "The small one, not the big one, its closer."

"Yep, okay!" I conform, half flattered, half put off by his eagerness.

Thankfully, Wade lives in the Valley's, so I do not have to walk all the way back to my apartment with him. As sweet as the boy seemed, he was the sort of person one could only stand so much of, and I already was beginning to regret the kindness I showed towards him. However, part of me was thrilled with my new found friendship. Sure, Wade was no Finnick, he was not at all charming or comforting or witty, but he was good natured and troubled and very keen to befriend me, and after Finnick's betrayal, I could really use a friendly face around town and school. Plus, we share common ground, both of us have been let down but the ones we loved, both of us have close relations to the 65th Hunger Games and I have a feeling Wade will be the only one who will have any understanding of how it feels to watch someone as close as family fight for survival on television every night.

The truth is, at this point, where I feel so abandoned and have suddenly been left so alone, I need Wade just as much as he needs me.


End file.
